“Take your shot, stranger. You’ll only get one,” Tyler said, staring down the barrel of my gun. Who does this guy think he is? I hold his life in my hands and he’s acting like he has the gun!

“Listen up, Tyler. I don’t know what you think is happening right now, but you are on thin ice. Now kneel before I paint the alley with your brains.”

“Well, that’s quite the mental image, but I think it’s best if you lower your gun there, chap. No need for violence in the back of an English alley,” the man replied, slowly lowering my gun. He can’t do that! I’m in control and he can’t do anything about it. T-T-Tyrone? Timmy?

“What d-did you do? Why can’t I remember your name?”

“Well, I said you only had one shot, stranger,” he replied calmly, picking his hat up off the cracked concrete. The brick walls swayed as I started to realize I should stop him, but I couldn’t remember how to walk. What was my name again? Perry? Phil? I wish I was named Phil. Phil is a funny name.

“Your name is Harry Smith and you’re a construction worker who recently suffered a concussion. You should probably run to the hospital.” The nice man started to guide out of this strange alley and into the crowd of people on the street.

“Wait, what’s your name?” I asked, staring at this brilliant stranger.

“I’m Tyler Loveit, a man of science and neurology,” he declared, plucking the gun from my hand and walking off. A gun? Where’d I find that? Not like it would help with the creation of the new Pyth Tower. Now… where was that hospital?